


Different

by Boogalee99



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, F/M, Fred Weasley Lives, Fremione - Freeform, George and Harry are good brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, This is really just about getting these two boys help, War Trauma, becuase everyone needs help sometimes, if that wasn't obvious, oh yeah, sweet fic, this is really just about healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boogalee99/pseuds/Boogalee99
Summary: Fred and George have always been The Twins, but after the war, everyone begins to realize that even though they are twins, they are also different people. Different people who need different things to help them move past the trauma, so they turn to the only two people who have always been able to tell them apart: Harry and Hermione.





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this post about how George and Fred never pranked Harry because he was the only one who could tell them apart, and my imagination just kind of ran with it.
> 
> AU where Fred doesn't die at the battle of Hogwarts, and nothing ever came of Ron and Hermione.
> 
> Please let me know if you like it  
> tumblr: @savoirfairesuperhero

For as long as Fred and George could remember, it had always been exactly that: Fred and George. Always together, always laughing and joking, always “The Twins.”

And it was great… at least while they were younger.

It was fun to pull pranks, to switch jobs, to pretend to be some one else. Of course, it’s still fun every once in a while, but it got old eventually.

Around the time that they were nine or ten, Fred and George realized something crucial: they may be twins, but they were actually _different people_. A groundbreaking epitome, of course, but their whole lives, they had been treated as one unit, with one being easily replaced by the other. By the time that they were truly starting to think for themselves, they realized that maybe it wasn’t so good to always be “The Twins.”

After all, twins they may be, but they were actually really different. Fred was the quieter of the two, more soft spoken and empathic, and by far more artistically gifted. George was louder, bolder, and more logical and analytical. Of course, they had their similarities (they both loved jokes, and they turned the same shade of red when embarrassed or angry) but they were _different._

Slowly but surely, they got fed up with being The Twins. Yes, they loved their prankster reputation, and yes, they were each other’s best friend, but _come on_. Fred was gifted at charms, while George’s logical mind lent itself more to potions. George leaned towards extravagant language, while Fred preferred simpler words. They found it extremely frustrating when even _their own mother_ couldn’t tell them apart.

All that changed in their third year though.

Third year, when they met a skinny, spectacled kid in too-large clothing who did something no one else could (or cared enough to) do.

He could tell them apart.

Whenever the twins walked up to Harry or sat across from him in the Great Hall, Harry always, _always_ , knew which twin he was addressing. And suddenly, they weren’t The Twins, a single unit, but George and Fred, two best buds who just so happened to be twins.

And George and Fred loved him for it. The instant they realized that Harry hadn’t fallen for the old switcheroo, it was like a switch went off in both of their brains: _must protect. Have gained a new brother._ By silent agreement, the brothers decided that this little firstie, so utterly confused by and yet enthralled with the magical world, would never be pranked. His ability was far too special to risk alienating him.

The twins had decided that Harry must simply have been a miracle, a Godsend, an angel on earth, when lightning struck twice.

Fred was the first to notice it. The little curly-haired girl giving them stares every once in a while. Sometimes, Fred would catch her eye and he would feel distinctly uncomfortable as she scrutinized him, as if he and his brother were a puzzle that she couldn’t quite figure out.

Fred pointed it out to George, who shrugged it off and put it down as first year weirdness. Fred wasn’t so sure, however.

It all came to a head when the twins were playing a game of Exploding Snap in the common room. The girl just marched straight up to them, interrupting their rather lazy conversation, and pointed at one brother, announcing, “You’re Fred.” She pointed at the other. “You’re George.”

And she was right.

George was ready to put it all down as a fluke; after all, it was a fifty-fifty guess on who was who. The girl might just have gotten lucky. Fred, though, remembered the stares and questioning looks, and thought that there might be something more behind it.

He was right.

Time and time again, this girl (Hermione, they discovered her name was) could correctly name which twin was speaking to her, even going so far as to shake her head in disappointment when the two tried to trick her.

And suddenly, these two little first years became some of the most important people in George and Fred’s life. Of course, it helped that the firsties became best friends with their baby brother, but to the brothers, their ability to tell the twins apart was worth far more that any lightning scar or bookish habit.

Over the next couple of years, it seems as if the twins could hardly go a month without seeing one or the other. Not that they were complaining, not at all. They enjoyed what little time they spent with Harry and Hermione, no matter how they spent it.

But they were always just Harry, and Hermione, Ron’s best friends. George and Fred tried to leave them be for a while, knowing how Ron felt about having to share, about always being in his older brothers’ shadows.

Then the war happened.

All the sudden up was down, right was left, good was bad. Harry and Hermione went missing and they were back to being The Twins and their family was always in danger and they listened to the radio fearful of hearing familiar names called out in remembrance and they couldn’t trust anyone and George nearly lost his ear and Fred _nearly died_ and Harry _did die_ and then Voldemort _also died_ and-

Quiet.

For the first time in a year, there was no one rushing around, no frantic questions to assure identities. They could hardly believe that the spectacled firstie who could tell them apart had beaten the greatest dark lord for generations (when they finally heard the whole prophecy, George silently mused in his mind that perhaps the ability to tell the twins apart was the power the dark lord knew not. When Fred asked why he was laughing, he simply shook his head).

Life continued on.

Or, at least, it seemed to. For everyone but George and Fred.

Everyone seemed to be okay, to have life and joy, to have left the dark behind. Only… sometimes Harry flinched whenever someone came up behind him unexpectedly. Sometimes Hermione could be found early in the morning, nursing a cup of tea, the bags under her eyes a stark contrast to her pale skin.

George and Fred though…

They seemed to be stuck. They were caught in the quagmire, with no means of escape, and it seemed there was no one they could turn to, no one to hear their cries of _help! Please help! I am NOT fine!_ beyond their seemingly never-ending conciliatory platitudes.

As everyone moved on, Fred and George were left behind.

 

* * *

 

With a cry, Fred tore off his protective goggles and threw them across the room. They hit the wall with a rather unsatisfying _ring_ before falling to the ground.

Leaning forward, his elbows on the work table, his head in his hands, Fred groaned in frustration. Why couldn’t he get this? This was a relatively simple charm, by Merlin! Lifting his head slightly, he glared at the offending toy. The little action figure sat unresponsive, impervious to the death glare being thrown its way.

Snarling, Fred knocked it to the floor before standing up sharply, grabbing his cloak and throwing it around his shoulders. He stalked out the side door of the shop, pausing as he heard it slam behind him. Fred closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the briskness of the autumn air shake him from his frustration.

It had been like this ever since the war. No matter what, no matter how great the idea, Fred simply could not create a new product.

And it _hurt_. It hurt that he couldn’t do the one thing that he had always loved doing more than anything else.

Shaking his head, Fred stalked out into Diagon Alley, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. It would do him no good to sit and stew over the issue, to think about how he couldn’t even paint a new package design, how he couldn’t charm a simple _doll_ to _fly on command_ , how-

Fred sighed.

Doing his best to think of absolutely nothing at all, lest he be sucked into an echo chamber of self-hatred and depression, Fred looked around before setting his sights on Flourish and Blotts. He set out towards it, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could find a book to get him out of his funk, or maybe a new edition of that Charms research magazine that he kept meaning to get a subscription to.

Taking a moment to adjust to the warm, rather dimly lit interior of the shop, Fred paused just shy of the doorway. Should he head over to the reference texts? Somehow, Fred wasn’t feeling the cold, hard, scientific stuff right now. Wizarding novels? Hm, closer but not quite.

Straining his neck, Fred caught sight of a sign towards the back of the shop labeled “Muggle Fantasy and Fiction.” He had only been in the section once or twice before, but he shrugged and headed toward it, figuring he could at least get a laugh at some of the ridiculous ideas on magic. As he drew near it, however, he saw a rather familiar head of curly brown hair.

Walking up behind her, Fred saw the young woman carefully examining a book in her hands, caressing the cover, almost. Tapping Hermione on the shoulder, Fred quickly backtracked when she whirled around, her eyes wild and her wand drawn. He watched as the seriousness in her eyes melted away as she recognized him, and her wand arm dropped limply to her side. Her left hand came up to her chest. “Merlin, Fred! You scared me.”

Fred winced. Today was just not his day. “Sorry, ‘Mione. I didn’t think…”

Her wand disappeared as she offered him a soft smile. “It’s fine.” She gave him a soft hug (Fred pretended not to notice how good it felt to simply be _touched_ ). She pulled back. “What brings you to this fine establishment?”

Fred shrugged, not really having any particularly good reason. He offered a wry grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Just doing some research. Got pranks to plan, and all that.” He picked a random book off the shelf and waved it in the air. “Muggles have the most interesting ideas.”

His face flashed with confusion when the girl before him started laughing. Crinkling his brow, he looked down at the book in his hands.

Having recovered enough to speak, Hermione gently took the book from him. “Somehow,” she said through breathless giggles, “I don’t think you’re going to find much prank inspiration in _Our Mutual Friend_.” Placing the dense book back on the shelf, she handed him the novel she had been examining before.

“ _The Once and Future King?”_ He thumbed through the book, which was, in all honesty, just as think and dense as _Our Mutual Friend_. “How exactly is this brick-“ he held it out in one hand, before gesturing to where the other book sat on the shelf, “-better than that brick?”

She grinned as she took the book back from him. “This _brick_ , as you so eloquently put it, is all about King Arthur and his knights.” She smiled down softly at the book. “I think you could make a lot of money by making immersive costumes for kids. You know, they put on the costume, and suddenly they are _in_ a story, not just acting one out.” She handed the book back to him.

Fred nodded, weighing the book experimentally in his hand. He had to admit, the idea had merit. He startled when he felt a slim hand touch his arm. He glanced down questioningly at Hermione.

She raised an eyebrow. “Now,” she began, “you’re going to go and pay for that book.” She gave him a gentle push toward the register. “And after that, I’m going to take you to ice cream, and you’re going to tell me what’s _really_ going on.”

 

* * *

 

George sighed as he folded his arms across his chest. Another day, another argument with Mum, another screaming fight that left the whole house on pins and needles.

He surveyed the land in front of him. He stood at the end of the dock that lead into the little pond that the Weasley’s had on their property, nothing big, not even any fish, but the water was still soothing to him.

George sat down, letting his feet dangle perilously close to the cold water. Bracing himself with his arms, he threw his head back and closed his eyes. Ever since the war, since he almost lost the most important person in his life, _his twin_ , George had been prone to these… mood swings.

He honestly had no idea what caused them. One second, he’ll be feeling fine, laughing, joking, having and great time, and then the next, his vision flashes _red_ and it’s like the war never actually ended and his temper flares up, to the detriment of himself and all those around him. When the anger passed, he was left numb. Empty. Alone.

Distantly, he was aware of the sound of footsteps coming up behind him. It was strange, no one had ever come after him before. George chose to ignore whoever it was, letting them speak first.

But _boy,_ did George get the surprise of his life when two hands were placed on his shoulders and he was given a firm push into the pond.

He came up spluttering, gasping from the cold water paired with the cool autumnal air. He stared, flabbergasted, at his attacker. “What in _Merlin’s name_ was that for, Harry?” George clambered back up onto the dock, shaking from the chill.

The boy shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “You need to get grounded.”

George wrapped his arms around himself. “And you decided the best way for me to do so was a _refreshing dip_ in the pond?”

Harry’s head tilted to the side slightly. “Obviously.”

George failed to resist the urge to snarl. “Well, _screw_ you.” He made to stomp past the younger boy.

A firm hand grasped his arm, stopping his movement. He looked down into Harry’s hard face. The younger man grabbed the collar of his cloak and pulled him down so that their eyes were level. “Listen to me, George. You are not the only one who is hurting. You may think that you are the only one who is still caught up in this war, but _you are not_. _Everyone_ is struggling, and you are hurting your family. So get your head out of your arse.” George was released, but her found he couldn’t move, his mind to wrapped up in what Harry had said.

Was Harry right?

He was shaken from his thoughts when Harry took out his wand and cast drying and warming charms, relieving George of his shakes and chills. Putting his wand away, Harry sat down on one side of the dock, looking out over the water. He wordlessly patted the spot next to him.

Numbly, George sat down beside him.

And after a while, George began to talk.

 

* * *

 

The Sunday after Fred ran into Hermione at Flourish and Blotts, he found himself and his twin walking up to the Burrow for the weekly family dinner. Every week, Mum did her best to get all the kids together and _just once, can’t we have a normal family dinner?!_

Every week, something happened.

More often than not, it was Fred and George’s fault.

For once, everything was going alright. There were no major fights, no thrown food, no whoopie cushions on chairs. Everything was going well.

Until desert.

Until Ron stuck his foot in his mouth.

To be perfectly honest, Fred didn’t even know what he actually said. Whatever it was, though, it triggered something in his mind, made it so that he could no longer focus on the conversation going on around him, so that he could no longer relish in the feeling of being surrounded by family, so that he _couldn’t even muster up a simple smile for Merlin’s sake_ -

As soon as desert was over, Fred excused himself and pushed his chair back from the table. Stiffly, he walked out into the cool night. He had just gotten past the garden wall when his legs seemed to collapse beneath him. His heart seemed to be racing a kilometer a second, and he sat the cold stone of the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, his fingers digging into the dormant grass. He stared almost unseeingly up into the sky as his breathing came faster and faster, and it seemed as if the dark knight was simply going to swallow him whole-

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up sharply, straight into Hermione’s worried eyes.

 

* * *

 

George was actually enjoying family dinner for once. He was teasing others and being teased back and there were no mood swings whatsoever.

At least, until Ron stuck his foot in his mouth.

George didn’t even process what was his younger brother had said, but he could clearly see the effect that the words had had upon his twin.

As George watched Fred slowly sink deeper and deeper within himself, George felt his vision going _red._ And boy, was that bad, because George didn’t want to explode at Ron, he really _didn’t_.

Despite all of his restraint, George felt his hands clenching around his silver ware, his knuckles white from the effort. His arms started to shake. _No_ , he thought. Not now. He bit his lip to keep his temper in check.

His breath escaped in a soft puff when he took a sharp elbow to the side. Shaking himself out of his mind, George glanced over to his right to see Harry glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. The other boy gave the minutest shake of his head, as if to say, _Not here, not now._ Taking a deep breath, George centered himself enough to finish the meal and watch as Hermione went after his brother.

 

* * *

 

Fred found himself unable to speak as Hermione sat down beside him and placed a gentle arm around him. Nevertheless, he found himself leaning slightly into her embrace.

“You alright?” she asked.

Fred opened his mouth, but no sound came out. After several more tries, he gave up and simply shook his head. They sat in silence for a while after that, simply gazing up at the night sky.

It was a beautiful night; a crescent moon, not a cloud in sight, the stars gleaming brightly above. They had been sitting so quietly for so long that Fred gave a little jump when Hermione suddenly spoke up. Thankfully, she didn’t acknowledge it. “You know, I’ve always loved the stars. I never minded having to go to astronomy so late. I think that stars are the most beautiful things.”

She paused, before leaning her head closer to Fred’s (Fred tried to ignore the way that made his calm down instantly) and lifted her hand, point to a certain cluster of stars. That right there is Orion. He- well, everyone knows the story of Orion.”

Fred wanted to say no, he didn’t know the story, but his voice still refused to work.

Her hand moved slightly away. “The line of stars there is Eridanus, a lesser known constellation. Story goes that-“

They stayed there for what seemed like hours. Fred didn’t say a word, but he let himself get lost in Hermione’s voice, escaping reality for a world filled with gods and heroes and monsters.

 

* * *

 

As soon as George finished up the dishes, Harry grabbed his arm and dragged him up to the twins’ room. George was deposited on his bed as Harry closed the door firmly behind them. For a while, they just looked at each other, Harry with his arms crossed, George with his body sitting stiffly on the edge of the mattress.

Finally, Harry sighed and let his arms drop. “What happened at dinner?”

George’s right arm shot up, rubbing nervously at his left bicep. He looked down. “I don’t actually know.”

Harry’s feet moved closer, so he was less than a foot from where George sat. George refused to look up. “I just… I saw how Fred reacted to what Ron said, and, I don’t know, I lost it. Ever since the war, I’ve just been so stressed, so obsessed about worrying if this is the last time I’ll see Fred alive or not and-“

Harry’s hands on his shoulders forced George to sit up, but he still didn’t look up. “And I get protective and _angry_.”

Harry exhaled softly before he grabbed George’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “George,” he began hesitantly, “everyone in this house loves you. We don’t expect you to suddenly be better after nearly losing Fred. We think that you must be hurting, with the way your temper keeps acting up, but _we can’t help you unless you let us._ ” Harry’s voice broke slightly, and his stalwart expression crumbled. “ _Please._ I can’t stand to see my older brother in so much pain.”

Those words…

They were what George needed so desperately to hear. It was as if his soul had burst out of some sort of dark prison and all of the sudden, he was crying. He threw himself into Harry’s arms, and they were _both_ crying and grasping onto each other with a desperate strength.

George was far from fine.

It was about damn time that he admitted it.

 

* * *

 

After that night at the Burrow, something changed with the twins. Neither could really pin point it. They were both left feeling rather fragile, and for once, they didn’t really know how to act around each other.

They had silently acknowledged that each was facing their own problems right now, and, try as they might, they weren’t what the other needed.

After that night, everything was just _different_.

 

* * *

 

Fred was sitting behind the tiller, shaking his leg slightly in boredom. The shop was almost always empty at two in the afternoon in the fall, what with most kids being in school and most adults at work. He had drawn the short straw today and was manning the store while George worked on their latest iteration of the Skiving Snack Box in the back.

His head shot up when he heard the telling bell ring of the door opening. Unfortunately, a rather large display of the latest brood of pygmy puffs was blocking most of his view of the door. Shrugging, Fred moved out of the behind the counter and made his way around the store, searching for the customer.

He finally found her (Hermione? In a joke shop?) in front the day dream charms, smiling slightly at a box illustrated with the sword in the stone. Not quite knowing what had gotten into, Fred walked up to her and hugged her from behind. “See something you like?”

To his surprise, Hermione didn’t even jump. She simply patted the arms that were around her waist. “Hello to you too, Fred.”

Fred gave a small chuckle as he pulled back. “So, what can I help you with? A Wonder Witch product? Prank wand? Decoy Detonator?”

She playfully slapped his shoulder. “Just who do you take me for, Fred Weasley?” Nevertheless, Fred saw her reach out and grab one of the day dream charms.

He raised an eyebrow at her selection. “I didn’t take you for a romantic, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes before she ran a finger down the edge of the box. “Oh, shut up.” She looked up at him inquisitively. “You know, this really is some remarkable magic.”

His heart stopped. Did she know that- No. She couldn’t know. And she couldn’t possibly mean it either. After all, it was one of the first things he created for the shop. Fred chided himself for reading too much into a simple statement.

As if reading his mind, Hermione offered a wry grin. “I know you do most of the charm work, Fred. This?” She held up the box. “This is incredible.”

A soft smile crept onto his face. “You really think so?”

 

* * *

 

George looked up, startled, as he heard a call from the floo. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and, as far as he knew, neither was Fred. Shrugging, George pushed back from the desk in his room and entered the flat’s living area. He was surprised to see none other than Harry Potter stumbling out of the fire place.

“Oh sure, just barge on in, no need to ask for permission,” George joked. He quickly grasped Harry’s arm to stop him from falling. “Whoa, you alright there?”

Harry rolled his eyes as he caught his balance. “Please, you know I’m awful at floo travel.”

George good-naturedly through his arm around Harry and tousled his hair. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Harry grinned as he shook off George’s hold. “Oh, I need your help with something.” Oddly, Harry paled, and he seemed slightly panicked. “Oh Merlin, do I need your help.”

Rather alarmed by Harry’s demeanor, George guided him to sit down on the couch. “Deep breaths, Harry. Now, what’s up?”

Still rather disoriented, Harry repeated. “I need your help.”

George pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, we’ve established that. What do you need my help with?”

Harry shook his head, coming back to himself. “What’s Ginny’s favorite flower?”

Rather taken aback with the sudden change in topic, George tilted his head. “Pardon?”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “I’m taking Ginny out on a date tonight, but not just a normal date. A fancy dinner and everything. And I just realized that the polite thing to do is to get her flowers, and I also realized that I have no idea what kind of flower she likes.”

George threw his head back and laughed.

 

* * *

 

George was out for the night, and Fred had the flat to himself. He had enjoyed a quiet dinner and just sat down in front of the fire to read a book when all of the sudden, he was aware of _everything_.

The crackling wood fire place.

The creaking window shudders.

He was alone.

The barking of that awful dog two properties over.

The scratchy fabric of the beat-up recliner.

_Tumbling bricks. Excruciating pain._

The torn jacket on his hard cover book.

The cold draft coming from under the door.

_Cold. So cold. Is this death?_

The too-warm feeling of his sweatshirt.

The hole in the toe of his sock.

 _Everything_ was assaulting his senses, and Fred felt his mind go into overdrive. He was there, back under that wall in Hogwarts. Whimpering, he clamped his hands over his ears, wincing at the thud of the book hitting the ground. He drew his feet up to his chest, curling as tight as he could into himself, trying to escape.

The tick of the clock.

The groan of the building settling.

The hoot of an owl.

Nothing he did could make it go away. When the fire flared green, it was all Fred could do to clench his eyes shut. “Fred? George?” he heard a voice cry out. Fred willed it to go silent. “Your mum wanted me to- Fred?”

Fred could’ve cried in relief when the light from the fire died in intensity as it returned to normal. His eyes shot open, though, when he felt a pair of soft hands being placed over his.

Blinking rapidly, he managed to focus his vision on a familiar pair of brown eyes. Their bright, concerned gaze slowly broke through to him, and eventually, he could understand what was being said to him.

 _Breath with me_ , the person said. _In…Out…In….Out. That’s it._

As he focused on his breathing, Fred gradually felt his senses returning to normal. Now the crackling of the fire was comforting. Now, his chair was comfortably worn. Swallowing, he found himself finally able to recognize the person before him. “Hermione?” he croaked.

Her tender expression broke him. “I’m here, love. I’m okay, you’re okay, and your family is okay.”

Shakily heaving a great breath, Fred allowed himself to relax from the fetal position. “Hermione?”

She grabbed his hand from where she knelt in front of the chair. “Yes?”

Fred squeezed her hand like it was his lifeline. “I think I’m ready to talk.”

 

* * *

 

George was really and truly having a pretty decent night. Strolling around, not doing anything in particular, enjoying the crisp autumn hair. He stopped at a small park, a bright light in his eyes, as he simply basked in the moonlight.

He plopped down in the dewy grass, perfectly content to just sit for a while, until he heard raised voices off in the distance. A woman was yelling… at her husband maybe? George did his best not to eavesdrop, but clearly, the couple was making to attempt to hide their quarrelling.

“You’ve changed!” the woman yelled. “Ever since you fought in that bloody battle-“

George saw red. _Battle. Fred, hurt. Blood and bricks and yelling._ Shaking himself, George got to his feet and began walking away quickly.

“Of course, I’ve changed!” the man yelled back. “My brother bloody _died!”_

George lost all control.

He wanted to yell.

His hands were clenched.

He wanted to scream.

His jaw was closed so tight his teeth started to hurt.

He wanted to rant about the unfairness of the universe.

Instead, he did the only even somewhat logical thing that came to his mind.

He apparated to the step of Number 12, Grimmauld Place and rang the doorbell.

George stood there for what felt like an eternity before the door opened, revealing and drowsy Harry, with a dressing robe thrown on over his pajamas. “Yes?” he groggily asked, before he realized who was at the door. “George?”

George bit his lip before forcing out, “Help…”

Without hesitation, Harry drew him into the building and closed the door. They made it to the sitting room before George let himself collapse into his brother’s arms.

 

* * *

 

That was the night.

That was the night when George and Fred both finally admitted that they wouldn’t get better on their own.

That was the night that the healing process truly started.

 

* * *

 

Fred ran through the Burrow while his sister ran shrieking after him. Glancing over his shoulder, her grinned at her rather pink, rather curly, hairdo.

Facing back where he was going, Fred hit the brakes to avoid running straight into his mother. “Just what is going on here?” she questioned.

Ginny angrily placed her hands on her hips. “Fred pranked me!” She froze after she said it, as did Mum. “Fred pranked me…” she repeated, quieter.

Fred would never understand why his sister hugged him and cried after her gave her a rather interesting hair do.

 

* * *

 

It was another family dinner, and everyone was once again waiting for something to go wrong, George in particular. He and Fred were giving an animated telling of a rather remarkable explosion that they had caused earlier that day.

Percy snorted. “It seems the only thing you’re good at is blowing things up.” He paled as soon as the words left his mouth and looked almost fearfully at George. Everyone at the table froze, waiting to see how George would react.

He only grinned. “At least I get a reaction every time. Nothing boring when I’m around.”

The table seemed to heave a collective sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

Shaking off his nerves, Fred nervously knocked on the door in front of him. He straightened his sleeves and checked his tie just as the door opened. Hermione stared out at him curiously. “Fred?”

He offered her a smile. Not his charming, mischievous smirk, but the same soft smile he had given her the day that she bought a day dream charm. “Hello, Hermione.” He wordlessly held out the bouquet of flowers.

She took them from him and motioned him into her apartment. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well…” Fred tugged his collar once before forcing his hand down to his side. “I was rather hoping…”

“Yes?” she prompted as she got a vase ready for the flowers.

Fred took a deep breath. “Would you like to accompany me on a date?”

She grinned and walked up to him, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’d love to.”

 

* * *

 

“Harry!” George called out. The other boy was racing along on a broom above the Weasley’s small orchard. George grinned when the boy immediately came over.

“Yeah? What do you want?” Harry questioned, hovering lazily about 3 meters off the ground.

George grinned. “What? Do I need an excuse to hang out with my little brother?” George’s heart glowed at the way that Harry’s eyes lit up.

“Well,” Harry drawled, “you _do_ usually have some sort of ulterior motive.”

George laughed. “Not this time, not really.” He summoned his broom. “How about a little race? Around the pond and back? Loser has to test the next WWW product?”

Harry beamed. “You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

Fred and George may be The Twins, but they were also very different people. Fred was a bit more sensitive, George a bit brash. Fred was better at presenting an idea, while George was good at selling it to people.

Turns out, different people cope with trauma in different ways.

Go figure.

Fred needed the love of a friend (or maybe something more), George the love of a sibling. George needed to be grounded, while Fred needed to be taken care off.

They still aren’t alright. At this point, they might never be.

But they weren’t stuck any longer.

They were different, and they were progressing, and they were still twins.

And that was all that mattered.


End file.
